


there is another loneliness

by neptunedemon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Airports, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Light-Hearted, Loneliness, M/M, Observation of Place, liminal spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:32:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neptunedemon/pseuds/neptunedemon
Summary: Airports at night simply don't seem right. They're like a word taken out of context. And they will probably always be that way, so if you have to frequent them, then you may as well bring along someone you love.





	there is another loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> hello; this is a quiet and calm piece inspired by all those liminal space prompts you see out there. i thought about where i have been inherently lonely because of the place or time, and not because of my feels, and i have always disliked being in airports at night. 
> 
> since this writing is somewhat experimental, i would definitely appreciate feedback, but also general comments and those lovely kudos!

How many times had he been immersed in the gloom of an empty airport late at night? 

_Alone, too._

_Airports any time after nine demanded an eerie type of contemplation, Yuuri thinks. A reflection on where one has been and where they are going. Maybe it’s because airports are a bridge between faraway places. And one’s mind is still back in the behind, the former place, and they have to pull it over cities and seas to catch up with where they are going now._

_And it’s lonely to be a body, an entity among many that make up the whole world, sifting through time and space._

_Often Yuuri felt this brand of existential weight pressing down on him when walking through the airport after the sun has gone out and most people were anywhere else._

_Airports at night put one’s suspension within this vast bubble of universe into perspective. Because the synapses sparking within them suddenly feel false, because their brain tells them there’s meant to be a context here. There’s meant to be people bustling and kids crying and planes coming and going._

_But this is still that same place, just altered, changed, calm. The building settles, creaking and groaning with the exertion of the day, like when Yuuri lays down after an extra physically-demanding practice session, exhaling wholly at last without the push for another immediate intake of breath._

_Just, be._

_And in those moments of wheeling his single, lonely suitcase through the extensive corridors, the wheels rattling as the loudest sound within the entire place, Yuuri couldn’t imagine ever exerting himself again. Because if this was time and how it passed, then it’s too slow and murky to perform anything extravagant. To do much else than walk slowly along because_ _he would feel tired, worn, almost hopeless. It could be the jetlag. But yet it was definitely more than that._

_The epitome of loneliness is encapsulated in these walls, and Yuuri often felt that it would latch to him like a ghost and haunt him all the way home. The only comforting thought would be that when dawn breaks again, the airport will take a deep, shuddery intake of breath, and people will exclaim and machines will whir and engines will roar to life, and the bleakness of the night will seep imperceptibly away, unnoticed, recoiling into shadows and vents until the late hours came again._

_That was always how it was. Traveling around the world meant that Yuuri usually ended up in an airport during those hours. He had seen so many empty spaces, alike but different, each with its own distinctive flair of solitude._

_It was not appealing, and was rather the worst part of traveling alone, in Yuuri’s opinion._

Yuuri exits the jet bridge.

The flight had arrived at 10:37 at night, exactly. 

Yuuri hugs his carry-on bag to him, watching idly ahead of him as people quickly begin to diffuse into the airport, some toward the baggage claim, others to various exits, having carried their luggage on board. 

_He recalls the pang in his chest that never failed to strike – always on time, like the rock of a pendulum – as he’d watch lovers link hands, families group together, mothers and fathers lift their children protectively onto their waists. They’d all leave together, carrying their own sphere of life and sound with them, something to guard them against the pressing drear._

_Wow, he’d always think, eyes gazing through the empty halls. Despite the buzzing fluorescents, it’d be almost dark. He easily misjudged how much airports relied on natural light pouring in from the window panes of the walls and the skylights._

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, glancing back at him. Yuuri had managed to fall back a few meters, walking slowly as his mind traversed a different time. “Are you okay?”

Yuuri blinks. Smiles. Because he isn’t in that time now. 

It’s the first time, too. At least at night. 

“Sorry,” he says and walks a little faster until he is stepping alongside Viktor again. 

Viktor shifts his carry-on bag from his left shoulder to his right so that he can wrap an arm around Yuuri. 

“Did you sleep well on the flight, love? It seems you’re still waking up.” He leans down briefly to kiss the top of Yuuri’s head. 

“Oh, y-yeah, it was fine,” Yuuri manages. He leans into Viktor enough that their walking isn’t thrown out of balance, but he’s taking advantage of the warm support of Viktor’s body. 

_He wonders if there’s someone standing back, or to the side, out of sight – watching and alone. Sighing because everyone has someone and they don't, suspended in this emptiness, even though it’s just for now._

Walking through the quiet with Viktor isn't the opposite of lonely, though. Of course not. It’s still dark and eeriness hides around the corners and under the many rows of flight gate chairs like something watching and waiting to pounce.

But Yuuri doesn't face it alone. Viktor’s presence next to him is like a light at night, glow pulsating against the persistent blackness; it guides Yuuri, keeping him in its orbit.

He wonders how often Viktor had to cross empty airports in the past.

Ahead of them are a pair of escalators, one sliding upstairs and the other down.

_The low, mechanical buzz of their motors is a soft, constant whisper. The ghosts of everyone they carried during the day are imprinted along their steps. Do they ever turn them off at night, or do they just run forever, those ghosts parading along an endless rotation?_

Above their heads is a sign with a digital readout. An arrow points down and another points up, and they both have directing Cyrillic text next to them. Underneath, thankfully, are English translations. According to the sign, the floor below contains the baggage claims.

Viktor lets Yuuri go so they can step onto the escalator headed to the lower floor. Without the pressure of people behind them, they don't continue walking down the steps, and simply let the escalator pull them forth.

"So do you think we will have to wait long before the baggage claim activates?" Viktor asks casually.

Yuuri shakes his head. "No, I don't think so. Since it's so late."

"Ah, yeah."

They’re halfway down now; Yuuri is peering around the bottom floor as it rises into view, looking for the English signs that will direct them to the correct baggage claim.

_Everything moves so much slower when no one is around. Airports are about hustling, usually -- get through security without a problem, don't make anyone else wait, hurry to your flight. Without the energy of the day spiraling through the air and bounding off ceilings and walls, everything falls flats and slides smoothly along. Step by step. Leave the plane. Go down the escalator. Find luggage. One, two, three._

Viktor’s fingers brush Yuuri’s, nearly startling him. He lifts Yuuri’s hand, gently kisses each of his knuckles. Warmth blooms in Yuuri’s cheeks at the sudden affectionate gesture. He blinks at Viktor over the frames of his glasses, smiling blushingly.

"I’m glad to be going home," Viktor says, eyes sparkling with a life and joy that could rival the entire void of the airport.

Yuuri nods firmly once, blinking as he does, and smiles gently. "Me too."

They reach the bottom of the escalator and step off with light hops. Viktor takes a hold of Yuuri’s hand and intertwines their fingers as they walk, continuing to speak: "I still can't believe it when I remember you come home with me, now."

Yuuri opens his mouth to comment on that, but Viktor suddenly says, "Oh, we turned the wrong way."

Yuuri glances for signs with English translations and, indeed, they started heading toward baggage claims for different airlines than the one they took.

They laugh at their clumsiness and turn around. There are a few other people coming down the escalator now, presumably from the same flight.

_Usually waiting on his suitcase made Yuuri nervous. If his flight wasn't direct, he had to bear the worry of lost luggage until it was finally safe in his hands._

_The churning groan of the luggage conveyor was always deafening when it was the only one activated. As people would gradually gather around it, the airport momentarily lit up again. Like the luggage conveyor was a sun, pulling everything into a trajectory around it; while they waited for their belongings, people would idly laugh and talk together again, and children would play in the background, their parents keeping them far from the temptation of the moving belt._

_If it took a long time for Yuuri’s luggage to be delivered, then even worse than the long walk across the vastness of airport (and perhaps even the worry that his luggage would never come) was the feeling of being left behind as everyone else drifted from the baggage claim to their cars or taxis or buses._

_And then all would be dim and hushed again._

Their luggage station cranks to life. A few seconds later, the first couple suitcases emerge from a plastic curtain covering a hole in the wall.

Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s hand. "So do you want to grab food somewhere tonight, or can you wait until tomorrow?"

"Well," Yuuri wonders, very aware of the emptiness of stomach, but unable to decipher if _"can you wait"_ is Viktor hinting that he would rather them wait, or him actually wondering if Yuuri wants to wait or not.

 _No_ \-- Yuuri almost shakes his head as he vehemently tosses the awkward flurry of thoughts from his mind. Viktor doesn't play word games with him.

"I think we should pick something up from near your apartment," Yuuri answers.

Viktor beams. "I was hoping you'd say that. We haven't had real food all day."

Yuuri tilts his head thoughtfully. "I thought those pretzels on the plane were perfectly fine."

“Oh right,” Viktor says with a snort. “How could I have forgotten that delicacy?"

Other groups of people have gathered around them now, though the same several suitcases are traveling around and around. No one touches them.

A few more appear from the wall. Not theirs, though.

But it's okay. Their flight was direct, but even if something went wrong, they were going to Viktor’s apartment, so they wouldn’t be stranded.

"When are we picking up Makkachin?" Yuuri asks, a spark of excitement flickering when he remembers he gets to see her soon, too.

"Tomorrow. She’ll be so happy to see us again."

Yuuri nods in agreement. "We should take her on a walk as soon as possible."

"Of course." Viktor shrugs his bag off and drops it to the ground, and Yuuri does the same, realizing his shoulder has been growing sore for a while now.

"Is that ours?" Viktor asks suddenly, eyeing a new suitcase on the belt.

Yuuri looks at it, squints, pushing up his glasses. "Nah, I don't think I see the luggage tag we use."

Someone else grabs it and pulls it off the belt. They hardly glance at it before strolling away with it dragging behind.

Yuuri looks at Viktor and shrugs. "Well, let's hope it wasn't ours now."

Viktor huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, there’s only a couple thousand dollars’ worth of skating equipment and costumes in ours.”

_Having to wait and wonder about where he was going next, whether he would get a nice taxi driver or catch the right bus or train or whatever form of transit the place he was in used, was draining to stand and consider and roll over in his mind. Live and let live was never advice Yuuri took to. At least not before._

_Where are these other people going?_

_He wondered about that a lot, too. Found himself so easily wrapped in thoughts that would drift over him along with the people they were about, the strange faces he would never meet again; regardless of the differences among all their lives, a chain of events had been set in motion that led them all to sharing a flight. Going to the same place, from the same place._

_It felt like that should be relevant somehow. But thinking about other people, not speaking to them, and then watching them walk away permanently only left him feeling more isolated._

A lightbulb flickers somewhere above, and both Yuuri and Viktor momentarily glance up.

Viktor nudges Yuuri. "Think it was a ghost?" he jokes.

Yuuri lightly shoves him back. "Shh, you." He laughs lightly. They don't unlock hands.

Many people have retrieved their suitcases and left. They aren't the last ones, however; several other groups are still waiting. Nearby, an older woman impatiently taps her foot. She huffs out a heavy, exasperated sigh. Mumbles something in Russian.

Yuuri tries to remember what there is to eat around Viktor’s apartment, and of those places, what would still be open in an hour.

"Oh, I think that's it!" Viktor points at the suspected suitcase. Yuuri recognizes it quickly.

"Finally," Yuuri breathes, and the moments spent watching it creep toward them stretch out in awkward, oblong seconds.

Yuuri let's go of Viktor’s hand so he can pull it off. Then it hits him: this is their _only_ suitcase. They had packed one large one together to save on baggage-checking fees.

Something feels strangely domestic about that, and it isn't something he has felt before, and he finds himself awash in warmth and color for a moment, stuck staring at the suitcase and his hand on the handle.

"Are you okay, Yuuri?" Viktor asks. He takes the suitcase from him, lurches it onto its side so he can see the luggage tag. "This is ours, right?"

Yuuri blinks hard a few times to pull himself from his stupor. "Yes, yes it is. For sure."

"We are ready to go then. Let me call a taxi."

They move away from the station to stay out of the way of the remaining people.

_And do they watch them go, abandoning them to the increasingly quiet space? To be left behind, swallowed up by the high ceilings and bleak white walls? The only sounds the whirring of the luggage conveyor until it, too, finally clicks off, and the room is submerged into a shrill nothingness?_

"Okay, thanks,” Viktor speaks in Russian into the phone. He hangs up.

"They’ll be outside in a minute. They aren't too busy tonight."

Viktor lifts his bag and takes the handle of the suitcase, but Yuuri stops him before he can take off. "Let me take your bag if you're going to wheel the suitcase."

Viktor chuckles amusedly. "I’m fine, Yuuri. I’m not that old yet."

Yuuri rolls his eyes and doesn't argue, knowing Viktor will remain persistent against Yuuri’s help. Instead, he wordlessly pulls the bag from Viktor and hoists it across the same shoulder his own bag rests on. He can’t last forever with both bags weighing down one side, but he can make the walk to the exit into the taxi and bus pick-up area.

Satisfied, he grabs hold of Viktor’s hand again.

"All right," he says. "Let’s go."

Viktor scoffs and shakes his head. Then, before Yuuri can start pulling them away, Viktor leans down and steals a brief kiss, the touch against Yuuri’s lips heartfelt but fleeting. Yuuri blushes with a rush of warmth, but then Viktor is walking forward, the suitcase rattling along, and Yuuri is tugged forward.

_And then there's nothing like standing outside, alone in a strange place. In the dark, small spans of space easily stretch out. Not physical distance, but the type of spatial distance one can feel in the emptiness of their chest or in the doubts of their mind._

_Cars may drive by, but they seem unmanned._

_People walk past, and there is a sinister nature to their movements._

_Alone, he would tug his jacket tighter around himself if it was cold, or suddenly feel wildly exposed if it was warm and he lacked layers._

Though it is chilly tonight, Yuuri was dressed prepared, and Viktor blocks the small breeze brushing against the outer walls of the airport.

"Oh look, that must be ours!" Viktor chimes happily. He doesn't have a hand to gesture with, but there's only a single taxi waiting outside the airport doors.

Yuuri is relieved, because half his body his beginning to creak under the strain of the two bags on his side.

The driver inside is only a slightly visible through the tinted windows, but Yuuri sees him wave in greeting, and then the trunk pops open.

Yuuri and Viktor load everything into it before climbing into the backseat.

Viktor is speaking to the driver in Russian. Yuuri listens intently, trying to pick out the few words and phrases he knows, but they speak rapidly. Yuuri at least recognizes the name of Viktor’s street and apartment building.

And then the driver nods and pulls away from the curb.

Yuuri watches the sight of the airport pull back from them, its lights suddenly bright now that they're closed inside the dark cab. But then Viktor pulls Yuuri into his side, and Yuuri’s attention is drawn back.

He leans into Viktor’s side, exhaling heavily.

"We are going to be home soon," Yuuri says in idle passing. But Viktor stiffens.

Yuuri furrows his eyebrows as he tilts his head up. "Everything good?"

And Viktor softens again. Practically melts. His arms wrap around Yuuri, and he nuzzles his face into the top of Yuuri’s head.

Yuuri wants to giggle and squirm but he's at least mildly aware of the taxi driver in front of them, so he manages to hold everything back with an eager smile.

"Just happy you're here with me," Viktor answers finally, speaking into Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri lightly hums his agreement.

He can definitely consent with that notion.

_Before -- he'd always, in some deep part of him, wish there would be someone, anyone, to buffer the pressing loneliness of those most dreadful spaces where there seemed to a distorted passage of time, a reality that was caught between asleep and awake._

The serene cast of _love_ and Viktor and _Viktor_ and love enveloping him is an agreeable solution.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://yuurilovely.tumblr.com/)
> 
> There is another Loneliness  
> That many die without,  
> Not want of friend occasions it,  
> Or circumstances or lot.
> 
> But nature sometimes, sometimes thought  
> And whoso befall  
> Is richer than could be revealed  
> By mortal numeral.  
> —Emily Dickinson


End file.
